


keep it patient (keeping it loose)

by MKYouth



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Colorzas - Freeform, no fd sorry guys, not beta read we die like early sleepytwt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKYouth/pseuds/MKYouth
Summary: Maybe Phil should have let the teen rebellion slide... dealing with impromptu superpowers and a pantheon of gods suddenly thrust upon him wasn't as poggers as you'd think.AKAmagical girl AU ft. the colorzas
Relationships: Colorzas & Colorzas, No Romantic Relationship(s), Phil Watson & Colorzas, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson
Comments: 40
Kudos: 80





	1. got one life

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to me for having this idea 9/29/20, actually writing it a month later, and speed writing 4k yesterday (11/29/20) at like 1AM
> 
> note (12/3/20): shoutout to me starting to write the second chapter, getting distracted rereading the first, and then going to rewrite 2 separate scenes LKFGJSD
> 
> anyway, whats up with the lack of colorza fanwork like those guys are so cool, why am one of like 2 people writing both twitter fandoms AND colorzas ?? i am carrying the fanmade characters of this fandom /j /lh

“Wil.”

“Phil.”

Phil pinches his brows, taking a quick glance to the hanging clock above his office door. Ten, ten thirty five, only an hour and a half since the school had opened to all the students and started to teach. An hour and a half passed of an eight hour day, only an hour and a half of time in which the student sat in front of him had managed to cause trouble. A new record for the fifteen year old, though Phil wouldn’t hope he’d brag about it. 

“Why did you ask to come to my office?” He asks, looking at the teen. He was dressed in usual school attire, lanyard lazily clipped around his neck—sweater and jeans. Nothing broke dress code, nothing seemed wrong, but Phil knew better than to judge this particular kid like that. Wilbur gives him a bright smile after taking notice of the glare. 

“You’re nicer than the rest of staff, just wanted to pay a visit.”

“You requested to see me from the office, _Wil_ ,” Phil glances down to the incident report Wilbur had been sent with, “I know you did something.”

“Er—Well,” He looks away from Phil, innocent smirk falling from his face, “I may have done a small prank on a friend.”

“Wil.”

“Phil.”

Wilbur, to Phil, was a bit of a trouble child. Not _troubled_ , per say, but a rather charming—annoyingly mischievous kid. For the (almost) two years he'd attended Swamplake (not the worst, but not the best school; Phil would say he lucked out with the job though, it wasn’t too boring or worked up, just _interesting._ ) the boy had caused more trouble than good. It wasn’t under the umbrella of violence, nor under the umbrella of angst. It was all good fun that caused his already heavy job of counselling to be much harder than it needed to be. Phil’d witnessed countless pranks, countless cases of broken school property and messy messy hallway floors from this and that. Wilbur had built a reputation for it, and Phil would not say that it was good. 

What really came from all this was an odd counselor/student relationship between the two of them. It seemed every other day since the first the student had ended up in his office for whatever. Phil was somewhat glad at that, yet the reminder that the only thing keeping Wilbur from getting expelled at this point were his overachiever grades every other day wasn’t something he quite liked doing. 

Phil sighs, “What did you do?”

“Oh nothing,” Wilbur drums his fingers against the edge of the desk, “Just put some mentos in _Dream’s_ coke, harmless fun.”

“Wil.”

“Phil.”

He flips through some of the pages on his clipboard, brought to him via. Wilbur’s leave from the office. Incident report on incident report, the back page hiding a sticky note letter from the woman who worked at the front office, Kristin was her name. _‘last warning’_ it read in cluttered cursive handwriting, just below it a record of Wilbur’s previous accidents on school grounds. 

Phil leans back in his chair and pulls open his desks drawer, throwing the clipboard in and scrolling through the sorted files for a specific piece of printed paper…

“Wil, yo—”

“I really mean it when I say harmless,”

“Wil.”

“Just like the toilet soup! It was nothing re—”

“Wil. You’re on your last warning.”

The teen stiffens up in front of him. Shrinking into his already oversized sweater, the final warning was inevitable. Good grades could only get you so far with a reputation like his. 

Phil rests his arms on the table, pushing the paper to Wilbur.

“As you’re aware there’s a getaway weekend next month,” It was for the gifted kids, Wilbur was in that category, “If you behave well, nothing will be scarred from your record but you’ll have proven something to us.”

Wilbur nods, eyes wide. He’d ducked his head a bit, hands held tight around the edge of the desk. Young and afraid beneath his charm and confidence, not troubled, just troubling.

“I am not here to be your enemy. If you choose to attend the trip I’ll supervise your group, ok? You can invite a friend who’s also in the program, it can be fun,” He swallows on the last line, truthfully dealing with these kinds of events was a lot less fun for the teachers than kids, “Hopefully for all of us, if you _behave_.”

“Yes Mr. Watson.” Wilbur nods, pushing back in the chair. 

“Please, call me Phil.” 

Wilbur grabs his backpack from the floor, quickly unzipping it and shoving the paper in. Phil winces, organization, it’s key. The kids stands, rushing to the door—late to second period. He pauses in the door, “Thank you, Phil.”

“No problem, Wilbur.”

Wilbur leaves his office, and Phil deflates in the chair. He hopes the trip isn’t hell—god, maybe he needs to drink after work. What’s Kristin doing? Whatever, he sits straight, opening his drawers and pulling out some bland staff paperwork. Regular work, he needed to get to it. 

* * *

Techno swirls his locker’s lock to and fro, 3 digit password cracking open and causing a paper to fall to the ground. He raises his brow, leaning down and grabbing the sheet from the floor.

  
  
“  
  
**Gifted and Talented Fall Retreat Submission Form**  
  
“

He pushes his bag to his shoulder, using his free arms to flip through the pages; finding a familiar name already written into the cabin mate part of the paper.

Wilbur Soot - 15 - Hopper Core

He sighs, turning it over and finding a small yellow sticky note stuck to the back, reading, _‘join me?’_ in that classic scribbly handwriting he’d come to recognize. He places the paper in one of his locker folders and walks away.

* * *

“Plan?” Techno leans against the window, head bumping with every little rock the bus hit on the road, “You made a plan for this?”

Wilbur leans over to the walkway, catching a quick look at Phil; the man sitting at the front, scrolling his phone, probably playing some boring old man phone game, or reading news... Pog—Bingo—Lets GO—this aids him more than anything, “It’s simple really, just figuring out what's the least likely situation that will get me expelled.”

Techno elbows him, “Isn’t this you proving you know how to _not_ get expelled? Not how well you are at _avoiding_ getting caught?”

“Oh we already established how great I am at not getting caught don’t get me started—I’m a dirty little crime boy who gets away with anything.” Wilbur pulls his bag up from under the seat, rubbing his side while doing so, grabbing out a granola bar—two, and offering one to Techno, “Here’s one, no food on the bus.”

Techno rolls his eyes and grabs the bar, unwrapping it and taking a bite; “I totally believe that, especially after the toilet soup incident. Great demonstration of skill, oh—and the intercom with what… objects that I’ve sh—” 

Wilbur takes his turn elbowing techno in the ribs, he coughs on his food. Sending Wil a glare. 

“ _Moving on_ … I’m fucking fantastic at getting away with shit when I try to cover it. Remember the War?” Wilbur leans back as much as he can in the bus seat, faux leather material pulling on his skin as he slides down, “Yeah, that's what I tho—”

“Tommy wouldn’t shut up about it actually,” He takes another bite of the granola bar, not hesitating to speak with his mouth full once again, “Like, I think everyone last year knew about it.”

Wilbur scrunches his brows and looks at Techno, pure disbelief on his face, “Really?”

“I don’t know if it reached the staff but it reached me, that's for sure.”

“That brat,” He sits his head on his fist, “but it proves my point! No Tommy to blabber his mouth at the authority figure, and hopefully no one in our cabin that will rat us out. I _planned_ this Technoblade. The days of trouble maker Wilbur Soot will be rumors of the past, now I’m undercover…” He sits up and waves his hand at the final words, Techno just nods along. 

“I don’t have my hopes in you.”

“Wow you reall—”

“I’m great, I know.” Techno takes a final bite of the granola bar and shoves the wrapper in his pocket, looking out the window. 

Sigh, Techno. Wilbur’s best friend, the ‘reasonable one’ out of the two. Not exactly the one who stays out of trouble, countless cases… or, rumors, of fights and battles always travelling the school every week. Never one to get caught, his antisocial nature leaving him the most unsuspecting person. Paired with his relatively good play offs in any situation and his stellar grades? He was the best accomplice to any of Wilbur’s little missions. Techno, the kid who does what he wants. The kid with bubblegum pink hair. The kid who tryhards the smallest things, all the rumors of his violent parades with Dream or his verbal face offs with Skeppy and Co were just _rumors_ that stemmed from his close friendship with Wilbur. That had to be it. 

They obviously weren’t, just don’t look too close at his knuckles if you want to keep your thoughts intact. 

“But honestly, are you really going to cause trouble when you’re on your last straw?” He leans against the window, bubblegum bun scrunching up against the glass, “That’s literally the worst thing you could do right now.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I just want what's best for you man,” He shrugs, “besides, without you who would help me crush orphans? Someone as merciless as me is hard to come across.”

Wilbur huffs, lighthearted aura beaming off the two of them, “God you’re so dumb.”

“Eh I could argue it,” He pulls his legs to the chair, “I’m doing better than you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not the one with the last warning.”

“Well I’m not the one with bruised knees!” He kicks his back under the chair in front of him, “You really need to stop fighting people, Technoblade.”

“You need to stop stirring trouble then.”

“You’re so blunt Techno you know that? If you want to keep reminding me of my failures, propose me a new plan.”

“Don’t sneak out?” He stops watching the road to give Wilbur quick side eye, returning to the scenic view a second later. 

“Ah shut up,” Wil leans against Techno with a push, annoying the other slightly; but not minding it as much as thought gives, “I’ll ‘ _chicken’_ out if we get anywhere close to getting caught, I’ll promise you that.”

“Pog, expulsion is weirdchamp anyway.”

“Never say that again, what the fuck.”

Techno elbows Wil, “Ay, captain.”

Wilbur lets out a wheeze and then a small laugh, the two huddle up on the back of the bus in silence and wait to arrive at camp. 

* * *

They pull up to the lakeside campgrounds soon enough, students pouring out of the busses from an assortment of schools and onto the graveled grounds. Students and teachers alike are filtered into numbered and colored groups, handed oversized shirts per camp regulation and identification tactics. Kids whine about the heat, kids whine about the shirts, and kids whine about how boring things seemed already. 

Phil gathers his kids, his students and coworkers traveling in group; Ian and Kristen and all the other school staff that’d wrangle the students talented enough to even be invited to this event. They move, walking in one big line to their section of the camp, secluded from all the other schools and separated into even smaller cabins of student home. The Cabins are surrounded by forests, and based on the post stuck on the ground right in front of their little square, it wasn’t all that traveled. 

(Three signs point in three different directions, an arrow to the lake, an arrow to the offices, and an arrow to the camp square.) 

When Phil rushes Wilbur into his cabin he doesn’t take note of the sly look he exchanged with Techno when putting his things away; nor did he notice how Fundy didn’t seem to unpack or how Karl carefully held a map of the campgrounds in his hands, reading over the forests with a gaze no willing student would. He’d just be glad that Wilbur didn’t burn the bus down while they’d drove to the sleepaway. His lack of observance _wasn’t_ key. 

Students are pulled from their cabins, and then students are pulled right back in. Night falls, and their little adventure begins. 

* * *

“We’re lost.”

“Wilbur you’re a fucking dumbass we’re lost.”

“I don’t think we’re lost! Just a little off road, we’ll be bac—”

“Ah shit we’re lost,” Wilbur walks back and forth between the trees, flashlight shining hard on the map that he’d tried to steady on one hand, “I think we’re gonna have to get back but it’s early as shit ‘n the staff are probably still awake.”

He looks to the group, everything about Techno’s stance saying ‘I told you so’. He mentally flips him off, and Techno shrugs. He barely takes notice of Fundy glaring daggers into his skull, or Karl’s optimistic worry dancing across his face; prevalent in the way he bounced his heels back and forth, a repeating pattern. Wilbur only takes real notice of the L’s he's taking here, and the absolute fuckfest he’s in if he gets caught out like this. 

Techno tuts, shaking his head and taking steps to Wilbur, “Give me that.”

“I—no you’re not fixing this th—”

“ _Give_.” He makes grabby hands at the paper and Wilbur furrows his brows, pushing the flashlight against his forehead.

He forfeits, “I’m not fighting you tonight.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” He fluffs the paper out and focuses on the reading. 

Wilbur huffs, pacing between the group. Karl nervously plays with the sleeves of his sweater and Fundy aggressively stands in place; arms crossed and head nodding this way in that. Annoyance prevalent across his features. Wilbur winces, he’d promised a lot more than getting lost in forgien woods for this night. The beast of failure had once again snuck up on him, even his careful planning hadn't been enough to fool it away for a night. 

Which sucked ass, considering his situation with the school board. 

“Wilbur, what the fuck. Techno can you try and find a way back?” Fundy steps behind Techno, looking over his shoulder and at the paper. Wilbur shrinks, crossing his arms to shield himself from the cold and to hide the nervous sweating of his palms under his arms. 

“Hey we got lost as a _collective_ ,” Techno adds, squinting at the paper, “I think we just fell off the trail, if we go back this way—”

He points left.

“We should be able to get back on track.” He folds the map up into a tiny square, tucking it away into the pocket of his coat. 

“Are you sure?” Karl asks, stepping forward.

Techno sighs, “Yeah. Wilbur promised a fun night and the delivery will happen, don’t worry I can handle this detour.”

He looks back, winking at Wilbur and giving him an uncharacteristically wide smile. Wilbur scoffs, rolling his eyes and suppressing his amusement. He joins the group in their little circle, all walking in the direction of the—ideally existing—path. 

* * *

Phil knocks on the cabin door, the metal 8 nailed to the top rattling with the noise. He waits for a response, stepping back from the door and holding his hands together. He’d thought the boys to still be up by now, curfew for the students nearly hit and all the other cabin honor roll kids seeming to be living it out to its dying breaths. It wasn’t mandatory to visit each student individually, but Phil thought it to be nice to check in with Wilbur on his first day at the metaphorical savior camp. He’d hoped it’d gone smoothly for his student, having been paired with his best friend on the bus and for the week—as well as several other students of request in fact. 

He pulls the ends of his sleeves, patiently waiting for his student to open the door. 

There is no answer. He knocks again. 

He counts the beats of silence...

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

“Will?” He knocks a third time, hands already in motion unclip the emergency keyring from his belt. He fumbles with it, searching the ring for cabin eight—holding it right and unlocking the door. He pushes it open, gently hoping not to disturb his students if they really were just sleeping; only to be met with complete and utter darkness of the room. No shadow, no noise, and no students to be seen or heard. Phil curses under breath, closing the door and putting a wedge in the lock for his students to deal with later.

He steps back, looking at the door and then the forest edge. 

He sighs, zipping his coat and walking down the cabin steps.

* * *

Wilbur would be the death of him.

  
  


_“Wil?_ ”

Wilbur freezes in his steps. Taking a death grip on Techno. 

“ _Techno?!”_

 _  
__  
_ Techno furrows his brows, slowly moving backwards. Wil follows.

 _  
__  
_ _“Fundy!”_

Fundy doesn’t move a muscle. Looking down at the ground and praying the laws of ‘I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ apply to the real world.

_“Karl!”_

Karl muffles a yelp, and everyone shoots daggers at the back of his head. He flushes and covers his mouth. 

“ _Are you—are you in the cave?”_ There’s a distant and hollow laugh, Wilbur feels himself metaphorically shit. Phil tuts, and moves forward, the crunch of leaves getting more and more distant. 

There’s a beat of silence between them all. 

“Did that just happen?” Fundy turns, looking between the group.

Techno shakes his head, confused and a bit scared, “I think we’ve been caught.”

“Shit.” Wilbur turns on his heel, hand combing through his hair, “God wanna run away guys? Running away? Sound fun?”

“If we get back before him then… this never happened.” Karl makes panicked finger guns. 

“Good idea!” Wilbur says, grabbing Fundy and Techno by the sleeves of their coats and dragging them in the direction they came, “If Phil shows up dead we never saw this!”

“I guess we’re doing that.” Techno shoves his hand off and starts down the path alongside him, sending worried glances to Will. He’d warned about this, but this time it didn’t feel appropriate to say _I told you so._

* * *

If Phil knew anything about children is that they’re fucking weird. 

Maybe it was the instances that he was currently powering through that reminded him of that. Stepping into the large cave, an echo of laughter immediately greeting his first step in, masculine and young. It absolutely terrifies him, flash pointed directly forward, a small wall in front of him; but another laugh directs him to look beside himself, nearly perfectly carved staircases leading up to an enclosed space of the cave. He never though Wilbur to be a demented student, but it doesn’t surprise him someone so young and rebellious would turn to something so utterly fucked up as entertainment. 

He follows the staircase, it wouldn’t be his first time dealing with the occults in his students ( _He shivers at the memory of Minx and her strange demonic plays, not PG._ ). It’s a tight fit, the only light illuminating the world around him for a good chunk of time emitting from him himself. He wonders why this cave even exists, so perfectly carved for human walks, so perfectly fit for an event like this; the side of a recent mountain, next to a waterfall—near a child's camp. He could count the amount of movie stereotypes that could stem from that combinations alone, it felt odd, wrong, he’d wonder why the camp directors didn’t mark this one down as a place to visit but he’d already known about the shitty workings keeping this place together. 

When the school board had started introducing the idea of a sleepaway camp to the schools, they’d decided to start with the more prestigious places and work down. When it comes to working down, especially considering the district they’d attached to, the school was somewhat bottom of the barrel; which meant when it came to picking near camps from the bucket, they got the scum gathered at the end. It didn’t necessarily mean the camp was bad, per say, just… somewhat shady. 

He’d read up about several legal battles with nature conservatories, and that alone told enough of a story. 

Nevertheless, he moves on. 100% ready to grab Wilbur and Fundy by the scruff of their necks and bring their sorry asses right back to camp. 

* * *

“We’re fucked,” Fundy whisper-yells, trying to pull their cabin door open, “We’re so, so fucked!”

“Holy shit.” Wilbur mutters, grabbing the edge of Techno’s coat and squeezing it hard. He looks mortified, and Techno sighs.

“We’re not, there’s a wedge in the door,” He squeezes Wil’s hand for comfort, stepping forward and fetching the map from his pocket—shoving the folded side in and pushing down. A slip falls out of the door edge, and techno opens the cabin door.

“We’re fine.” He says, turning to the group and walking into the room backwards. Karl audibly gasps, not wasting a second to run in. 

“Oh thank god we’re not fucked,” Fundy follows, and behind him Wilbur looks like he’s seen god.

He rushes in and slams the door shut behind himself, looking to Techno with grateful eyes, “ _Thank you!_ ”

Techno lowers his voice, “No, _you’re fucked_.”

Wil’s face drops.

“You’re ok though, cause you’re not leaving this place without me and I’m not letting my record get scratched one bit—alright? Go get some rest and we’ll plan something in the morning before Phil comes knocking on our door.”

“I was about to turn you into bacon, what the hell—but thank you, my ass would have been handed to me out there without you.” Wilbur says, the faintest hint of disbelief making its way into his voice.

Techno sighs, something he’s been doing a lot of this night, “It’s what a friend does.”

“You’re fucking me over here, I’m going to have to make this up to you one day.” 

“You’re—yes, yes you do.”

Wilbur giggles, punching Techno in the side. He rolls his eyes, turning and making his way to one of the beds, Wilbur follows after—not wanting to waste away his precious ‘calm before the storm’ time. 

* * *

“This is fucked,” Phil says to himself, standing directly in front of seven wonderfully large statues of several men, no student in sight, “This is incredibly fucked.”

His flashlight points upward and lights the lower edges of their faces, the relatively usual parts of the human face cast with long shadows that further push the agenda this cave was not normal. He points it across them all, taking note of the various features and poses of the group, wings, antlers, what seemed to be mushrooms and things all along the outlandish person qualities decorating the men and making them all uniquely different. Phil can still see scary similarities between them all, he decides not to think too deep into it. 

He moves the flashlight down, the base of the statues heavily decorated with an array of colorful flowers, some wilted and some rebirthing themselves on the decomposed figures of old. It’s wonderful how life can find itself in such odd situations, but all the same it’s fucked. He wonders who put them here, eyes passing a small rusted metal plate. He moves the overgrown flower bush away from it all, reading over the text. 

“

**Colorzas: Drained by nothing, hiding from something, waiting.**

“

He steps back, shaking his hand; a small cut from a rose stinging his hand. 

“This is some old religion,” he moves the flashlight back up, looking over the statues again—sucking on the small cut, “some old forgotten religion.”

He doesn’t notice the movement of the eyes, nor does he feel the placement of a hand on his shoulder—the silent whispers chatting behind his back or the small wind sprouting upward in the cave. 

He goes to exit the cave, not feeling the weight of a new charm on his necklace. 

* * *

Techno imagines he’s the only one who heard the knock; the only one who stared up at the ceiling, alone, thinking about life long enough for their presumed dead teacher to rise from the dead and come knocking on the door to drain them of their young life so he could live another fifty years—or something like that. He didn’t want to get up.

Another knock sounds, this time louder, and he feels the threat of Wilbur waking up and having to deal with this alone to try and sneak on him. He gets up, jumping off of the top bunk and destroying his ankles, not bothering to mull on the pain as he goes to open the door; as quietly as he can. 

“Where’s Wil.”

Techno internally winces, ways of breaking the news playing over and over in his head, “I’ll get him for you…”

* * *

“Wilbur.”

“We’re starting with that one? Mr. Watson.”

Phil pinches his brows, leaning over the desk and holding his head in his hands; he takes a deep breath before leaning back and talking to Wilbur. The teen holds their hands tight together under the table, and makeshift counselor space at the office used by only the two of them at this hour. Yet, he still manages to feel like the whole world is looking at him under the gaze of his teacher. 

“Wil, when I say these things—you got to understand that I’m not trying to joke around,” Wilbur shrinks in the chair, “You snuck out knowing the consequences and now you’re going to have to pay.”

The teen goes to speak, but stops themselves. Pushing their own line of sight to the edge of the desk and letting Phil talk, “You were on your last straw and I’m afraid I’ll have to issue the results. You’re going to be expelled, Wilbur. I do hate to say it, but you’ve wasted all your chances.”

Wilbur stays silent, eyes still locked to the desk.

“Along with your classmates too? You know they’re going to have to face similar punishment. I think this is going to be the first scratch on Karl _and_ Technos record.”

Wil shoots up, “No, no. It was all my fault. They had nothing to do with it, I just dragged them along.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your efforts of blame,” Phil sighs, scribbling some notes down on a spare notepad he’d found laying around, “but you can’t bluff them out.”

“No—Phil, you really don’t understand. Have you met Karl? The kid cracks under any ounce of pressure. Both him and Techno _AND_ Fundy cracked under me. It’s entirely my doing they shouldn’t have to face punishment.” Wilbur frantically explains, more animated than Phil’s ever seen him be.

Phil closes his eyes and lets out silent prayers, “Wilbur you’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be.”

He keeps in the ‘ _You always make these harder than they need to be_ ’

“You’re a great kid, Wil, but you’ve run your time thin.”

Wilbur takes a breath, “If I’m such a good kid then why are you kicking me?”

“You don’t learn,” Phil puts the pen down on the notepad, holding his hands together on the table, “You’ve personally requested to be in _my_ office countless of times and I do appreciate that you trust me, Wilbur, but those countless times are incidents that I’ve had to write up. I know you Wil, you’re a great kid because you never quit, but that flame of yours it’s caught on the wrong things. You put that energy to harm.”

Wilbur locks his jaw shut, falling back into the chair and pulling at the edges of his sweatshirt sleeves. 

“I…” Phil reads over his notes, “Did you do anything when you went out?”

“We got lost and Techno took us back…”

“Were you—did you plan to do anything in the woods? Drink? Smoke? Anything dangerous?” He looks to Wilbur for an answer. 

Wilbur snaps up, “What? No, never, we were planning on dipping our feet in water or fu—messing around with sticks and stuff.” 

Phil yearns for his youth, just for a moment. 

He sighs, reading over the notes again… “Wilbur you’re going to get expelled if I bring this up to anyone else, you’re aware of that?”

“Well aware.”

“I could, and I might not—I shouldn’t—but I might keep this incident between us, you didn’t do anything wrong _necessarily_ but next time this happens I won’t hold the same pity.” He leans back in the chair, waiting for a reaction. 

Wilbur looks up at him, “Really?”

“I have hope for you, as a student,” Wilbur and his pink haired pal had once done a presentation grade wide about the sciences of music on the mind—a rather basic subject matter but they’d delivered it in such a spectacular way it wowed the staff and was given its own section in that years yearbook, likely one of things that boosted their popularity in this school in the first place, “I’d just… don’t cause anymore trouble this week and the tension of expulsion will be lifted, _for now_.”

Wilbur claps his hands together, nodding vigorously, “I’ll have Techno regulate me and everything—thank you Phil, thank you.”

He pauses.

“I couldn’t imagine my school life without you or without any of my friends,” he frowns, “ _I really should have listened to Techno…_ ”

“Don’t do anything too crazy and you won’t have to,” Phil rips the note off the pad and tosses it into a nearby trashcan, “Get back to your cabin and get some rest, there’s some activities scheduled for tomorrow that will require some energy.”

“Yessir.” Wilbur stands up just as Phil does, he nods left and the student walks to the door—opening and heading out. Phil watches from the office porch as his student walks to his cabin, turning as he watches the kid enter the building and heading to the staff quarters on his own.

* * *

“Holy shit really?” Fundy gasps, listening to Wilbur tell the story of his little talk. 

“Yeah, really.” 

“You were going to get expelled and you still broke the rules? What kind of idiot…” 

Wilbur throws a pillow at Fundy from across the room, he yelps and Wilbur laughs.

“ _Bruh,_ ” Techno sits up in bed, “We can talk about Wilbur’s epic broken school record tomorrow—go to _sleep_!”

“Fun killer Technoblade?” Karl comments, head rested on a pillow between his legs, a small smirk on his face. 

Techno throws a pillow at him and laughs at the scream.

* * *

Phil has lots of memorable moments in his years of counselling. 

He would consider this night one of them, both for the fact he’d gone to the most fucked up place he thinks he ever has and will; as well as hoping to nail something into that head of his—begrudgingly—favorite student. He has a list of them, he makes lists of them, negative and good. Experiences in their detail and the lessons he’s learned. Sometimes they’re small jots, sometimes they’re lengthy notes. He thinks the moments before all of this to be somewhat like this… 

  * Wilbur snuck out
  * Followed him
  * Found cave (will report to camp)
  * Got Wilbur
  * The Talk



Short and sweet, or, at least short. Predictable in some way, a note for the future, and a hopeful fond memory when he sees Wilbur grow into a (hopefully) striking young man. 

Now, from here out, this note gets a bit longer. 

  * Stray dog
  * Not a dog, but a _very terrifying looking creature of hell_
  * Attacked (Almost died)
  * Almost meet god
  * Meet Redza (not god?)
  * Watch him attack the ‘dog’
  * Dog melts 
  * Redza starts cussing 
  * Meet Pinkza
  * Watch them argue on the floor 
  * Pinkza shows kindness



  * What The Fuck 



“Phil? Is that your name? I’m so sorry, Redza can get a little… shouty when he’s worked up like that,” They shake Phil’s hand from the ground, then pull him up with the littlest of efforts on their part; Phil feels like his shoulder nearly dislocates, “I’m Pinkza, if you can’t tell by my getup—“

Pinkza lets go of Phil’s hand in favor or gripping at the edges of his kimono, swirling in a circle and having it all flash up; the spin revealing more incredibly pink parts of the outfit. Phil wonders how one man can handle that much of one color; he feels a little ashamed in his t-shirt cargo getup. Pinkza stops, letting out a small laugh to himself, translucent butterfly wings fluttering from behind—incredibly similar to the statue he’d seen before, each detail of the antenna to the height (scaled between the two men infront of him) seemed to match up. He wonders what the hell he’d managed to summon. 

Redza steps forward, arms crossed and every bit of their expression saying ‘ _I’m pissed off_ ’, it’s almost childlike but Phil doesn’t dare say it in fear of ending up like hellbeast. 

“Punk doesn’t know how to defend himself, he’s not worth the wait. I say we get back to the den and do a bit of area cleaning,” A spear appears in his hand, Phil has no memory of him holding it before; there’s remnants of a black substance leaking off of the edge, “they already found us and it’s been an hour at most.”

Pink forces a smile, “We barely know him enough to make that decision, _Redza_ , he was thrust into that fight with no notice from us anyway. It’s entirely our fault.”

“I can barely fight and I’ve been doing this for years Red… leave him be…” Phil quite literally jumps at the voice, looking to the speaker. Antlers jutting from the top of their head, doe eyes and curled ears poking through their long hair. 

Redza rolls his eyes, “You’re like the weakest Colorza, of course _you_ want to keep him.” 

“Red you’re being terribly rude to our blue friend,” He blinked, he blinked and there’s another. An orange dressed man holds the Blue one in a shoulder hug, he looks soft—comforting somehow, Phil wonders where they’re all coming from, “ _First time out in centuries and the first thing you do is attack the pack, shame._ ”  
  


“Says the second weakest,” Pinkza slaps Redza across the back of his head—his hat goes flying off; and only then does Phil notice the horns, “EY! Fuck off, I’m allowed to state fact, I bet Purpleza would agree.” 

“No I wouldn’t.” Purple, Purpleza, there’s a pattern in those names and outfits. He looks darker than the rest, a tail wrapping around his legs and fluffed pair of something poking out from holes in his hat, but Phil assumes that to be the nature of the color thing—is that eyeliner?

“Come on! Yellow?” 

Phil can’t even prepare himself, “ _WHAT? ME? AGREE WITH YOU?_ ”

There’s a beat of silence between the group. He takes this moment to look at the 6th man, Yellow, wings, angelic; the almost, he seems brighter based on his words alone. 

“I have the laugh, _AHA_!” It’s a completely forced sound, yet Phil, deranged from the events of tonight already; laughs. 

All necks snap to look at him and a very much suppressed pressure starts to push on him; he sweats under their gaze, feeling judgement already. 

He nervously chuckles, “How many more of you are there?”

“Oh! Well.. hm… Pink, Red, Orange, Yellow, Purple, Blue… _oooh_! Guys Greyza isn’t out yet,” Pinkza counts the group, “We have one more member.”

“No we don’t!” Redza adds, “Not associated!”

“ _Redza_ you’re being incredibly rude tonight. Greyza is a bit shy, not an ‘OG’ exactly b—“

“No Red’s right, no association,” Purpleza picks at their nails, not even looking to Phil, or anyone else for that matter, “Dude hitched a ride and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk, like, _ever_.”

“ _He’s scary…_ ” Blue comments, clinging to Orange further. 

Phil steps back, trying to wrap his head around the situation. Minutes ago he’s doing his job, and now it’s like he’s being interviewed for another. For a moment, just a moment, he thinks he’s too old for this—but he knows that comment doesn’t seem like it would get him out of this one. He feels a headache coming on. 

He can try to make sense of it.

“It’s ‘za’? Right? Where's Greenza? Whiteza? Blackza? Where did you come from? Why do you hate this Greyza guy?” He asks, unconsciously tugging at his necklace. 

“Oh about that! So—“ Yellow gets cut off by Pinkza’s feverishly shushing him, assumed _Yellowza_ looks at him with offended eyes. 

“We love Grey! Don’t we?” Pinkza looks between the crowd gathered with no response, he sighs and continues on, “That’s a story for another day. As I was saying before all of this, you’re Phil? Phil Watson?”

“Um, yeah. That’s me. You avo—” 

“Great! I would have screwed us all over severely if you weren’t, so, allow us to introduce ourselves…” Pink steps back and twirls their hands, a small storm of dust gathering between their palms and taking the shape of a blooming flower, stained pink; Phil can’t look away. 

Pinkza blows it forward, and the petals burst into clouds of color, the whole rainbow, forming figures of each individual presented in front of him and the shadows of more. Phil involuntary gasps, watching them light up the space in front of him. Pinkza continues.

“We, my lovely little friend, are the Colorzas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i love yellowza and purpleza and ive written like a collective of 5 lines from them, i have like, friendship notes for the two as well LKFJKLDGSJ. im going to go update my [my carrd](https://mky.carrd.co/) to include this and idk . pass the fuck out 
> 
> if you enjoyed mayhaps leave a kudos for me. . . comment too !


	2. what you talk could be your walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Swimming?” Wilbur pipes, “In the water? I’d love to do that!”
> 
> “I would not.” Techno adds, tugging at loose hairs from his bun, shuddering at the thought of having to manage his hair after a swim in some shoddy lake. The mess he’d have to pull out of it… washing dirt out—he shakes his head. 
> 
> Phil nods his head, “No, boating—you weren’t supposed to bring swimsuits if you did,” He stops at a sign, “Short hike or long one? I have a feeling for the answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost drowning tw smile

He rushes the Colorzas into the small office space, each walking in one by one, orderly to their correspondence to the rainbow. Phil shuts the door behind them all, locking it with his keyring and turning to look at them all; a huff of exasperation leaving his lips. They stare at him, curiosity and a flurry of other emotions dancing across their individual faces. He offers them a small smile, his own worry on what it all means showing itself in the way he scrunches his brows together and the crooked nature of his grin. 

He’d been info dumped on, that’s the mix of words to use. From the introductions of names to an elaborate explanation of purpose all while seven men crowded together in the space of a school walkway. Not the best place, and he took it to inform them of that; then Pinkza suggested they very much get away from the public eye for safety reasons, whatever that meant.

Well, he did know what it meant; he could explain it with way too much detail after that walk. 

He’d been informed of beats of sorts that trailed their tails since some big event at their origin world, beasts that chased their life to ruins and forced them into hiding on the surface of his planet; trapped into a shell of themselves until a hero came along and saved him from their doom. He was supposedly supposed to fill that role, that role in which he was completely and utterly not capable of filling. 

_(“We’d prophesied a man to save us one fateful day, and you sir; you’re the only person to ever visit our grave. You are the hero of our story.” Pinkza had told him as they walked back to the trail, Phil simply moved on with shock.)_

“How long are you stayin’ here for?” He huffs, falling back against the door, Colorzas crowding in front of him to watch his movements; Phil ignores the majority and keeps his attention focused to Pinkza at the front, the man staring down at him with blank eyes. 

Pink leans forward, Phil sliding down the door with every inch closer he got, “Well we’re not going to leave until the evil is defeated! What didn’t click? Do you need me to go ove—”

“No no!” Phil falls to the floor with a thump and uncomfortably shrinks to get away from Pinkza’s incredibly close gaze, “I was asking when you’re going to leave, because _I am not_ doing any of that.”

“What?” 

The Colorzas seem to float above his vision, all looking at him with wide eyes. 

“I’m opting out of this one, I could give you a list of names that would definitely get the job done _waaay_ better than me mate,” Phil grabs the handle of the door and pulls himself up, eye to eye with them all, “mates…”

He pushes past Pinkza and the rest to rush at his desk. They all turn to him as he walks away, the most stark reaction to the rest being Redza; idly floating in the corner of the group with no attention paid to Phil himself. Blueza takes a step forward, though stance more worried than anything he speaks; “But—But what about the prophecy? You were chosen for us—all of us before any of us thought our world would fall to ruins!”

He waves his arm down, a wave of blue dust falling from his forearm like a scroll. Scriptures form in the mess, words upon words jumbled together in a literary scramble. Orangeza waves it away, pulling out a notepad from thin air. 

“What he means to say is, um, we designed a program of _magic_ Phil; and that program makes no lies. There was the figure of a man to save us all before we were shut away and due to everything laid in front of us… you are that man,” he adjusts the glasses on the edge of his nose, “It should be said that you seem to be doubting our skills here, and I can assure you there are no errors with our ability, we are a strong collective.” 

Phil sighs, looking over the disarray his office was already making itself be; “The first words your red buddy said to me was an insult, you sure about that?”

“I said as a collective, _please_.”

“I can’t imagine things to be that difficult, can’t you rerun it? Reboot?” Phil opens a drawer and tries to busy himself in mindless office work, not exactly knowing what the sheets he pulls out are about he goes to figure it, “I’m a counselor, a hero in a _very_ different way than you’re describing.” 

He pauses, “You can’t come to someone like me for all your problems, seek real help elsewhere. I can get you started and that’s the extent of my power, sorry.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding the severity if the situati—”

“Phil, though I would _love_ to see where you’re coming from I unfortunately don’t! I’ll blame it on the stuffy 500~ or so years we were locked up in a cave, but are you sure of your decision? You’re a _hero_ , Phil, a hero to so many people!” Pinkza cuts off, speaking words through a mix of tightly sealed teeth and general overjoyment; Phil senses the smile is fake, “We can’t force you to do anything—and we won’t!”

Phil looks away from the people lined in front of him, “Yes. Yes I’m sure.”

Pinkza steps back, hands clapped together with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions hidden behind that plastered smile. He turns on his heel, facing the other colors with a face that seems to strike fear into at least one of them, “Alright friends, you heart the man. It seems we must go elsewhere. For the time being!”

He snaps his fingers and Redza disappears from the scene, with him a shriek that cuts off before there’s nothing but a pink colored silhouette fading where he once was, he does it again—Purpleza follows the same fate and so forth. Phil keeps his eyes locked to the desk as things go on, suddenly very afraid of what the seemingly innocent looking man could do. 

When there’s the two of them left, he appears at the edge of the desk; leaning forward to Phil, “If you ever do change your mind please contact us.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Have you not noticed the gemstone on your necklace? It ties you to us silly! You can’t take it off, slight error on our part but if you’re really committed to this role it should wean off eventually.” He flicks the gemstone, a pink flash coming from the contact, “It should bring any attention to us if you ever do need it.”

Phil drops the pencil he had gripped in his hand, grabbing at the gemstone on his usual black banded necklace; cold, sharp, and completely—utterly, new to him. 

“Huh,” he sounds, “Alright… if I ever need it I’ll stay in contact—I guess.”

Pinkza claps, sharp and loud, “Great! I’ll be in my way then!”

He snaps, and what's left behind on the edge of his desk is falling petals of a pale rose. He sighs, standing up to leave the office. There were things he had to the next day, and sleep seemed to be escaping him these days. 

Walking out of the office, he’s a little more wary of his surroundings.   
  


* * *

  
Wilbur huddles in the back of the crowd, the slightest of tire pulling him down, but his usual energy lifting him up. He stands next to Techno, the rest of their group spread out to their own more favorable friends while the adults go on and explain whatever they’re doing that day at the front of the crowd. The teen squints while looking forward, noticing his own group leader looking tired, stressed, and anxious. He elbows his pink haired friend, leaning to the side to start talking to him. 

“What's up with Phil?” 

Techno turns to him; more obviously affected by their night rendezvous. Little dark bags under his eyes, a certain kind of glaze over them and the disheveled nature of his lazy bun communicating his own struggle with staying awake, “Probably tired.”

“Well I know that but like, he looks.. stressed. I don’t think lack of sleep does that,” Wilbur rolls his eyes, “Besides I’m sure like 90% of the student body didn’t get any sleep either. Do you think I did that?”

“Lack of sleep does do that,” Techno looks forward with dead eyes, biting the inside of his cheek to keep focus, “I’d know, you’re fine.”

“Ok!” Wilbur faces forward himself, doing quite the opposite of Techno, “I just think it’s weird that's all. Never seen him like this, or any teacher for that matter. Makes me worry a bit.”

Techno yawns, shaking his head, “Not like he can call in sick at a sleepaway. I doubt you as a student are causing anything to happen behind the scenes.”

“That makes sense,” Wilbur taps at the straps of his backpack, giving one last glance to his teacher; only the slightest bit of worry still clinging to the back of his mind, “Yeah probably that—or something along those lines. I shouldn’t care.”

Techno nods, grabbing the edge of Wilbur’s sleeve, “Yeah, yeah worry later… We’re gonna go as a group to the cafeteria and I’m _not_ missing out on getting some coffee.”

Wilbur laughs, letting Techno drag him to the side, “Alright, I need some too. Caffeine!”

“You don’t.” He says, stepping forward. 

“Well you don't have to say it.” Wilbur adds, freeing himself and taking the following close behind.   


* * *

  
“We're going hiking?” Fundy complains, kicking his shoe into the dirt; his arms crossed in frustration and discontent, “Right after eating too? It’s _so_ early Mr. Watson.”

Phil sighs, taking a drink out of his canteen, moving forward while looking at a schedule on the screen of his phone; “I don’t want to do it either, but once we get this done we can go to the lake.”

“Swimming?” Wilbur pipes, “In the water? I’d love to do that!”

“I would not.” Techno adds, tugging at loose hairs from his bun, shuddering at the thought of having to manage his hair after a swim in some shoddy lake. The mess he’d have to pull out of it… washing dirt out—he shakes his head. 

Phil nods his head, “No, boating—you weren’t supposed to bring swimsuits if you did,” He stops at a sign, “Short hike or long one? I have a feeling for the answer.”

“Short!” Karl yells first, hand raised to the sky upon word. Wilbur laughs at him. 

“Any objections?” Phil asks, looking over the kids. 

They all nod no. He rolls his eyes and walks then down the short path, silently praying there won’t be any disruptions on their trail. The stress of having to handle anything terrifying and potentially life threatening beasts while surrounded by children, students he’s legally binded (and somewhat emotionally) to protect and return alive tugs at the back of his mind. The lingering thoughts of heroism and whatever worship he’d seemed to nearly go down the path of being an annoying voice in his head, popping to disturb almost comfortable silence and bring up possibilities a child might dream of in their sleep to the forefront of his mind.

Silly, really. If he left it alone long enough there would be no beasts to bother, he’d been promised that. 

He walks his students on the path, only an ounce of fear accompanying his mind.   
  


* * *

_‘What are we meant to do?!’_

That was the general question that hung above their heads as the group watched Pinkza pace back and forth across the cliff's edge; all individually questioning their situation, their roles, and their motives. They’d never, _ever_ , planned for the role—the opportunity of a lifetime—to be turned down so quick, as if it was an _inconvenience_ , a damnation rather than an enlightenment! Past the dent in their egos, genuine panic poisoned their souls. So naturally, they dumped the issue to their makeshift leader while solutions worked its way into their heads. 

“Should I attempt to rerun the system? It should be somewhere in my case,” Orangeza waves his hand down in front of himself, particles gathering into a makedo suitcase; he rummages around, “I would think it best in this situation to at least try and find a new… ‘ _chosen one_ ’. Phil doesn’t seem too keen on the idea at the moment...”

Pinkza sighs, stopping in his tracks, “I would— _love_ ! Absolutely _adore_ having a solid leader, so yes, _please_ , do run the system and get us a new person?”

Orangeza nods, closing the case and sliding something new into view, the others spread out as he gets to work; general agreement among themselves not to bother Orangeza while he’s focused on something so important known among themselves. 

Purpleza’s tail flicks back and forth, “I _don’t_ want back into those cold ass statues, sharing a mindspace for 500 something years was enough.”

“Fuck you too!” Redza shouts, the only person away from the group, leaning on the statues as he watches the others stand around. 

“That wasn’t about you but alright,” Purpleza picks at their nails, chipping away at black paint, “Fuck you aswell.” 

Pinkza taps his foot against the stone, “Keep the peace guys! Now is not the time for bickering of anysort, we have matters to attend to, _important_ ones!”

“Purpleza started it,” Redza breathes fire with his words, “Not like he knows what it’s like to be important.”

“I actually despise you, I literally hate you so much Redza,” Purpleza’s ears turn back, eyes falling to slits, “You win one war and think you’re all that, shut the _fuck_ up man.”

Pink snaps his fingers, a small spark ignites with the noise, “Please, what did I just say?”

“Two, actually, and the words mean a lot from you—where did you work, media?” Red ignores Pinks protests, favoring riling up the catboy over any peace treaty they’d have before falling back into waiting again. 

It was fun, he’d consider it. Makes life a lot more interesting during such boring affairs. 

“I will literally gut you—you’re SO glorified it’s—“ Purpleza stops their words, a hand wrapped around their wrist. They tense, retracing the steps they’d made to Redza and planting themself firmly in the ground next to Yellowza. His hand still tight around their decorated wrist, he wiggles his way out and crosses his arms, “It’s unbearable. I’m not going to put up with you.” 

Yellowza coughs, looking anywhere but the otherzas and Pinkza nearly twitches with the madness of it all. Blueza, huddled in the back, shrinks even smaller. 

“Have you found anything?” Pink turns to Orange, pacing the caves floors while they work away. 

Orangeza huffs, pulling out a long strip of stained paper from the case, reading over every letter and word as it seems to print out. He tears it from whatever contraption is sitting where the others can't see, waving the case away and looking Pinkza dead straight in the eyes, “Fate has been sealed, unfortunately.”

“Oh, perfect!” Pinkza claps his hands together, “This is terrible news! Overjoyed!”

“What do we do?” Blueza asks, stepping forward from the corner they’d huddled into, “We… we can’t force him? _Can we?_ ”

Pink turns to Blue, “We can’t!”

“Well I hate to interrupt but if it's _prophecy…_ ” Yellowza pulls his words, “I’m just saying there’s never been a good case of someone escaping it!”

“We _can’t_ force him. I'm sorry to turn down whatever plan was building in your head, Yellow.” Pinkza sighs, biting the inside of his cheek while the pressure of it all pushes down onto him, “It’s his choice to follow or not. Even if that doesn’t work for us.”

“Yellowza has a point,” Orangeza comments, “It isn’t up to us, we could force him because quite frankly any other route won’t end well for him.”

“No, no we can’t.”

“IMO Sunshine over here is spitting facts, I don’t like our ‘savior’ or whatever he isn’t fit but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna see his ass thrust into battle unprepared or anything.” Redza joins the group, wings flaring out behind him as he talks, “Could you imagine? He’d fucking die without our help.”

“Don’t call me Sunshine,” Yellowza pinches his brows, holding back a fake gag. 

Pinkza’s natural smile falters, taking a deep breath before putting it on again, “We are not going to force Phil to do anything.”

“Your call!” Redza shouts, spinning right on his heel to head back where he was, “ _Your call._ ”

“My call.” Pinkza sighs, “And with that call I’m putting my foot down, we’re not forcing him to do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“He’ll come around,” Purpleza adds, shrugging, “It’s prophecy.”

The group nods along, finding their respective places in this mess. Pinkza paces, Yellow and Purple find themselves talking amongst each other; Blue and Orange worry about this in that together, and Red distantly watches the others with a neutral expression from afar. 

Somewhere, far, there’s a man shrouded in darkness waiting for his time. Somewhere else, someone walks along unknowing theirs has just begun.   
  


* * *

“Wilbur, grab the paddle, we’re going to row back,” Phil marks a check on his notes app, sliding the electronic into his pocket and grabbing a paddle of his own, “Freetime after this and then dinner, some team builders, ect—it shouldn’t take us that long to ge—”

“Freetime? Let’s stay out too, Techno wants to too.” Wilbur nods to Techno, who waves a hand and goes back to reading his book; “Let’s stay out, stab fish—catch a salmon, stare at the open water and think over our life decisions, you’d like that one!” 

Phil scrunches his brows, “What? No, sorry. You can do that in your own freetime but for me that means work, we have to row back, Will—”

He pauses, sparing a glance to Techno, “Wilbur.”

Wilbur stands from his seat, rocking the boat, Techno clutches onto his book for dear life; grabbing the edge of the boat, he raises a brow at the two of them. Making a face before returning his eyes to the pages. 

_(Somewhere, deep below something stirs from a long slumber.)_

“Wilbur, sit down,” Phil points at one of the paddles, “Techno, grab that, we’re going to row back.”

Techno bends to put his book down, grabbing the paddle and looking between the two once again, “Oh-kay…”

“What? Techno, I thought you were on my side,” Wilbur puts his foot on the edge of the boat, frowning, the rowboat leaning in the water, “traitor!”

Phil coughs, “Sit down, you’re going to knock the boat over.”

_(It goes up; something distrubed within itself, searching the body for something to steal—something to put to rest it’s pain.)_

Techno lets out a nervous chuckle. 

Wilbur goes off, “I’m not going to knock the boat over! There’s one of me on this side, look, and there’s two of you on that! It evens out, I’m going to be fine! I can even jump a bit and I won’t even budge—” The boat rocks, “It’s just a bit of moving around, you don’t need to be so critical of my actions it’s a little thing—I’m just having a bit of fun, no need to be so pr— **A** ”

Wilbur slips over the edge. 

_(A black finger wraps around his leg and drags him down.)  
  
_

Techno drops the paddle—the blunt thud of the edge hitting the edge of the boats seems to be the only noise for seconds, minutes even. 

The next few moments go by in a haze.

Techno worriedly starts to start spewing words that don’t seem to necessarily make sense, his usually—thoughtful speaking patterns and lesser conversational skills completely shattered by the sudden developments that people can infact fuck up and put themselves in danger. Phil barely catches a word, moving forward and gripping at the rim of their floatation device—if it could even be called that now with a member overboard—with knuckles turning white.

He calls out a name, the name. 

“Will?”

1…

2…

3..

He calls again, and the vaguest sense of deja vu crosses over his mind, “Will?”

In some sort of strike of brilliance Techno nearly lunges himself forward with the way he leans off the boat and the motion starts to get it to rock—and in that moment, Phil finds his hand wrapping around the gemstone tied tight around his neck. 

He doesn’t exactly know what happens next, but it happens, and he feels himself fall out of control.  
  


* * *

“Go fish,” Pinkza throws down a card, “I wi—“

Pinkza finds himself enveloped by a bright, rose tinted, light.

Purpleza stares wide eyed, “Oh, Fuck.”

“SMITED BY G—” [ _Yellowza gets hit over the head_ ]

* * *

_(Murky waters blind his access to the light, the weight of his clothes and the muddles and heavy world around him pull him further and further down into the lake—he kicks, he screams, and he shouts bloody mary but his words are choked and muffled by the mud, dirt, and water that fills his mouth and runs to his lungs._

_His eyes burn red, shapes of light dance around his vision—he makes out fish and sheep and family, he makes out stories of a hero—a traitor—a villain, the distractions flash in and out of his world until he slowly sees fiction and reality blur together. He’s a son, a father, a hero and a villain—he’s this and that and does an action and takes a risk and—_

_He sees… flashes of fireworks, he sees a break in the waves—he sees a flash of spectral pink light he sees a face he sees…_

_He sees Phil, and for a moment his world is bathed in a beautiful rose tint._

_The weight pulling him down escapes. His ankle sores, his lungs ache, his body screams for air and he breaks surface and he leans against the edge and he—)_

* * *

Techno watches his grade councilor rush his best—fucking—friend onto the flat of the boat. 

Sticks, dirt, mud, and everything else gross clings to the sopping wet clothes of their bodies and in a weird way they both glint in the sunlight in a nearly ethereal way. Something new lights in Phil’s eyes, he notices—a fire he’d never expected to see in such a boring man, he pulls his gaze away and spares a great glance to his friend. Wilbur stares at the sunlight for a moment. 

And—like all people who swallow ungodly amounts of salt water, he throws himself over the edge of the boat and vomits into the water.   
  


* * *

“I swear I did not mean to do that,” Wilbur rambles as Techno aids his friend into the nurses office, a towel wrapped right around his shoulders as Techno supports each unstable step of his shivering figure, “I know how to swim but it was like something was pulling me down I—”

“You can take L’s sometime Wilbur,” Techno pats him on the back and Wilbur feels his face go a little green, “Especially after that. Don’t waste your energy on trying to make a point.”

“BUT I KN—”  
  


“SHHHHHH!” Techno slaps his free hand over Wilbur’s mouth, “You don’t have to—did you just lick my hand?”

Wilbur nods his head, Techno doesn’t move his hand. 

“I don’t chicken out, but gross.”

Techno kicks open the nurses office door, the metal swinging open and the lady at the front desk looking at the two of them with worried eyes almost immediately. 

“He drowned.” Techno says, dryly as always. 

Wilbur nods, speaking through Techno’s hand, “Ay dwound”

The lady shuts her eyes and whispers the father son and holy spirit under her breath—waving them in.   
  


* * *

“You really probably should’ve called Blueza for that incident but I’m very glad you at least called one of us,” Pinkza talks over Phil’s shoulder as he picks branches and leaves and dries pieces of mud from his hair over the sink, “I do absolutely adore children and I would’ve hated to see one so close to you… oh well, you know. It’s been such a long time since I’ve been able to hold one too…”

“What the fuck was that,” Phil rests his palms firm against the edge of the sink, “One moment my student is… _drowning_ —and then I feel—like I’m fucking ascending and the water and the—the fucking _BBRRCK_ and it’s over? Like that? What the _fuck_ did you do to me?”

Pinkza claps his hands together; interlocking his fingers, “I didn’t do anything to you, you did something to me! It was wonderful, really—I haven’t been able to stretch my wings in such a way in so long, though I’m more of an earthy fighter than nautical.”

“What do you mean I ‘used’ you?” Phil runs the water. 

Pinkza turns his head to the side, “Oh—well—you used my abilities as your own, it was exhilarating your determination!”

“ _What does that mean_?! You’re being so vague, calm down. Think about your words.” Phil ducks his head in the sink, scrubbing at his cheeks with a cloth towel. Pink feels his face flush, pulling at the ends of his hair. 

“Well, your necklace allows us to be used as… tools, on occasion. Yes—that’s the phrasing to use. You did it so suddenly, too—I half expected you to never even call us but those damned beasts are really everywhere huh… I’m glad I could aid you. I r—”

“I think,” Phil cuts Pinkza off, looking at himself in the mirror, drops of water falling off his chin and mud still bulk in his hair as he stares deep in thought, “I think I would— _like_ , your help.”

“You’re accepting the position?” Pinkza looks at him with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. 

Phil keeps his eyes on himself in the mirror—brows slightly scrunching together, “That doesn’t mean I want to be your savior or whatever the fuck it was—I know that if I don’t accept you help now this shit will _keep_ happening to me and my students. Mate, I’m not an idiot.”

“Wh—I—just like that? You’re in? I mean this is a development Philip thank you for telling me this I—oh wow the others are going to be incredibly relieved, I’ll talk to them about this arrangement as soon as I see them!” Pinkza bounces between his heels, hands in former fists shaking back and forth with nearly every word.

“Yeah…” Phil wipes at the water sticking to his face, “I’m in.” 

And with those words, Pinkza rushes forward and wraps Phil in a soul crushing hug—before poofing out of existence and leaving Phil in a glittery cloud.

He coughs, “It was roses last time _jesus christ_ —“  
  


* * *

Wilbur combs through Techno’s bubblegum hair—the two of them sat cross legged on Wilbur’s bottom bunk, “Wow it’s really boring being left alone like this. I wonder what Karl and Fundy are doing.”

“Last time I checked they were doing dramatic retelling over the lunch table.” Techno nibbles on the edge of a camp something branded french fry, “Of you drowning of course. Like they were there. Clout chasers.”

Wilbur giggles, setting the brush down and sectioning Techno’s hair into three; “I mean they were, just across the lake.”

“I said what I said.” 

“God—that was such a weird experience Technoblade,” He started to weave the hair together, “It was like something was dragging me down, I felt something wrapped around my leg—pulling and pulling and no matter how hard I tried to fight against it, kicking and screaming and trying to swim it just… didn’t budge.” 

“I think Phil is going to be really helpful until we get you a proper therapist, Wilbur.” He shoves the whole potato product into his mouth, “I can’t imagine that though, are you ok?”

Wilbur pauses the braiding, “Well I don’t think I’m traumatized—I was saved wasn't I?”

“Will I wasn’t even the one drowning and I have a feeling my dreams aren’t going to be dreams for the next coming days.” Techno adds, pushing back any memories of the moment away from the front of his mind. 

“You’re dramatic. While I was down there it was like, at a certain point I just started thinking about fictional characters and praying I didn’t die. I swear, when Phil saved me I saw a light—“

Techno cuts off, “I never took you the religious type.”

“Oh shut up—it was like, a red light that freed me from the hold and then, well getting dragged of course but I was able to _swim_. It was paranormal almost.” Wilbur recalls the blast of light that framed Phil’s descending figure, angelic in a way—but completely odd. 

He returns to braiding, “I’m not crazy. Maybe Phil has superpowers.”

“ _Bruuuh_ , You’re crazy. You were probably hallucinating from the lack of oxygen.” He leans into the touch of Wilbur behind himself, “Did you sustain any brain damage or something?”

“No idea but crossed fingers!” Wilbur snaps a rubber band around the bottom of the braid, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around Techno in a kind of hug, “If I go insane will you still be my friend.”

“I legally cannot say no, so yes.”

“Yay!” Wilbur steals a fry from over Techno’s shoulder, “So legally I can steal this.”   
  


“Oi—“ Techno slaps at his hand, “That’s mine.”

“Mine now!”—and Wilbur pushes Techno off himself, grabbing a handful of the fries and dashing out of the bunk, “CYA LATER TECHNOLAME!”

“WHAT—THATS IT—“ Is Techno’s final words before making a break after his classmate.   
  


* * *

Pinkza opens his eyes to a cave—one with Redza in time out, Purpleza laying with his tail wrapped around a very out of it looking Blueza and the other two sitting on the ledge of the statues having a civil conversation. 

Almost immediately they all look at him.

He grins—wings fluttering at a rapid pace behind himself, “Phil’s in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed episode two of me abusing pagebreaks. If you did, leave a kudos. If you really enjoyed, maybe bookmark! Subscribe even! It's free and will notify you of when I update this work. You can always unsubscribe later. Thanks for reading! 
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